


Reprise

by darkmochecoffee



Category: VIXX
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, M/M, wontaek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmochecoffee/pseuds/darkmochecoffee
Summary: Even in his nightmares, Wonshik will recognize Taekwoon.





	

The place was stifling.

It was the usual place where over-educated children who grew up with gold spoons shoved into their mouths, wasted time. In between burning eyebrows for exams and writing papers piled high on each other racing for their deadlines, this is the place where people try to relax and failing to do so. It is a place where decent people lost the facade as they snorted lines, smoked pot on every invisible corner, and fucked a random stranger up against a darkened wall.

It was disgusting but masked behind a glimmering mask of opulence, no one would have noticed. 

  
  
The bar was surprisingly devoid of people, Wonshik noted staring at his oddly colored drink. He'd debated about tossing it back and risking some kind of poisoning or to just pour it down a nonexistent drain, in the end, his metaphorical self says _fuck it_ and he ends up choosing the former. The drink tasted like rotten fruit and acid and Wonshik had no time to regret his indecision because his head is then swimming. He felt like he'd immersed himself in a pool of oil.

"Hey."

Wonshik fought the urge to retch as some random woman took it upon herself to grind her behind on Wonshik's crotch. Wonshik suddenly wished he preferred women, he needed to get laid and sometimes they were just so fucking easy.

Wonshik hated himself for that.

He smirked, intoxication running through his bloodstream like fiery stones, as he tried to appreciate the long line of the woman's neck under the harsh multicolored lighting. He stared at the pale skin, almost translucent, and willed his arousal to not fail him. The woman smiled drunkenly and even through Wonshik's alcohol addled mind, it was pretty clear that she's high on all kinds of crap the place produced. It made bile rise up his throat.

Wonshik retched and pushed her back. She was too pumped on whatever she inhaled that she produced no kind of offended reaction. Wonshik stood up, grappling for the walls and avoiding the mass of undulating bodies on the dance floor. His ears felt like they were going to bleed, the bass too strong, the shriek of the noise and the surrounding cacophony passed as a sorry excuse for music. When Wonshik managed to step out of the vicinity, he felt oddly thankful. He inhaled, the polluted air filtering through his lungs was better than the recycled oxygen inside that godforsaken club.

Wonshik regretted caving to his weakness, he should not have been here but if he did not, he would also have bashed the grand piano that sat in their — no, his —apartment because it brought about all kinds of fanciful memories that Wonshik wished he could purge out of his mind.

He was all sorts of pathetic, someone who could not get over a random one night stand who turned into hushed conversations, slow kisses and a fire that gave him the most wonderful burn.

Wonshik was not sure who he loathed more, Taekwoon or himself. No, he was sure, he abhorred himself a thousand times more.

"You fucking bitch—!"

Wonshik whipped his head to the side and squinted through the dark. The strong utterance of the profanity piqued at his curiosity and he saw two people swathed under the dim lighting of the streetlight.

Wonshik's heart stopped and promptly accelarated at the sight. He knew that stature, those long nimble limbs and that obsidian hair. Hell, Wonshik will recognize Taekwoon even in his own dreams, or nightmares in restrospect.

Wonshik found himself sauntering over, his movements found no hesitancy whatsoever as he hoped beyond hope not to trip on his own legs, or embarrassingly enough, even on thin air. However when the other man fisted Taekwoon by his shirt collar, Wonshik would have teleported himself in haste, if he damn could.

"What's the matter, bud." He said, grasping the still unknown man by his unsuspecting shoulder. Taekwoon looked shell shocked from in front of him. Wonshik suddenly wondered if his mere presence warranted such a disconcerting reaction from his ex-lover.

The other male turned away from Taekwoon and faced Wonshik, who struggled to maintain a neutral countenance despite wanting to bash the man's brains out, in a fit of blind rage.

He and Taekwoon might have been over but Wonshik is selfish enough that he refused to let go even if Taekwoon has long discarded Wonshik out like he was yesterday's garbage and today's dirty laundry. But that never really stopped him, he will still interfere in Taekwoon's life as long as he could, as long as he wished.

He was pathetic he knew, what's the point of denying something so painfully obvious? Wonshik was still so fucking in love with Jung Taekwoon that everything reminded him of their nonexistent relationship and joyful memories that have long met their due.

He really hated himself for that.

"Who the fuck are you? " The man swatted Wonshik's hand away as he seethed. Wonshik could smell the stench of alcohol and smoke on him and yet again, he forced himself to not bend over and puke his guts out. His vision was dimming and it was beginning to look like some sick joke.

Wonshik parted his lips to answer. "I'm his friend."

The man looked positively offended, "Do I look like I give a flying fuck, _bud_? Go mind your own damn business."

The man shoved him and proceeded to circle a large hand around Taekwoon's slim wrist. Wonshik must have lost his mind by then because the action in itself triggered something inside him. He launched himself at the man, knocking him out by a measured side chop to his jugular. Wonshik did not aim to kill but he was rather drunk and his actions were not of his own volition. The man slumped to the ground, Taekwoon looked horrified and Wonshik wanted to end himself.

Taekwoon bent over and assessed the aftermath of Wonshik's misplaced skill, stood up and sighed.

"I can handle my own problems." Taekwoon murmured in that perpetually serene voice. "You should not have done that."

"I'm sorry."

Wonshik must have sounded like a broken record because these days that is all his lips could muster.

_I'm sorry for hurting you._   
_I'm sorry that I destroyed us._   
_I'm sorry that I still love you._

"Wonshik, please. Stop this, you don't deserve pain. Neither of us do."

Wonshik did not know what to say to that but then again, what does Taekwoon know of pain? Does he know of the way it felt like searing hot metal onto Wonshik's skin, like he's waddling on his own self inflicted version of hell.

Pain? What does Taekwoon know of pain?

"Taekwoon, I can't breathe."

Really, he could not, as if there's a metal disk lodged on his throat and it felt like he was drowning on air. He really could not breathe and Wonshik sometimes hoped that what he felt could materialize into reality.

"I can't breathe."

Taekwoon stared at him, sighed and bent down to heave the completely passed out man, letting him lean onto Taekwoon's svelte, sinewy body. They turned around and walked away quietly.

Wonshik wanted to scream.

 

 

Their — no, his — apartment was frigid.

Wonshik, by some sort of miracle, found his way back and was now trudging inside the place with a metaphorical storm cloud behind him. He was not angry nor spiteful. He was just lethargic, an exhaustion he felt deep into his very soul and by all means he wanted to close his eyes and sleep a dreamless sleep. He could not, not when he glanced at his bed and still imagined Taekwoon, spread over, beckoning him with his muted words and his fiery kisses.

But Wonshik was so tired, he closed his eyes and slept. Taekwoon's name on his tongue like a silent prayer.

 

The doorbell went off, Wonshik snapped his eyes open. He was still on the cold floor and his head ached exponentially so. The door rang again forcing Wonshik to stand up, clutching at his head as he did.

Taekwoon stood on the otherside of the oak doorway and Wonshik had to squint to realize what -who he was seeing. Taekwoon, his Taekwoon.

Taekwoon took two strides, wrapping long arms around Wonshik's neck.

"You know, I couldn't breathe too."

Wonshik moved, his arms around Taekwoon's waist. "Taekwoon." It was like a quiet, most reverent prayer. "Taekwoon."

 

 

  
"Wonshik!"

Said man gasped as he raised from the bed.

Wait, bed?

Taekwoon stared at him worriedly, "Wonshik what's the matter?"

Wonshik was sweating, his heart pounding, vision unfocused. He stared at the man beside him and sure enough it was Taekwoon, still Taekwoon.

Wonshik could not understand what the fuck was happening. He left the bed as quickly as he could, blood rushing to his head that he almost toppled to the floor. The man scrambled for the adjacent bathroom, flipping light switches on and white fluorescent light consequently brightened the confinements, almost blinding him.

Wonshik's heart was still pounding, like it wanted to claw its way out of Wonshik's ribcage. He grasped the sink and stared at his reflection, his tanned face was chalky white.

What the hell?

"Wonshik what's happening?"

Taekwoon, it really was Taekwoon.

Wonshik stared at his lover, and Taekwoon stared back, expression almost frightened. Wonshik brought a finger to Taekwoon's forehead, down his nose bridge, past his thin lips.

There's a lump on Wonshik's throat, "You're real."

Taekwoon laughed nervously. "Of course I am. Wonshik you're scaring me, is everything alright?"

Wonshik was not particularly sure. He moved forward and embraced Taekwoon again. "Oh god, I can't believe it. You're actually real."

Wonshik pulled back and gazed at Taekwoon's face again. He did not understand what had happened. The dream —was it really a dream? —felt too real, almost palpable. He moved forward and pressed his lips against Taekwoon's malleable, pliant ones; chaste.

Solid.

Taekwoon was really there and it was not some kind of fucked up nightmare. Wonshik smiled, his heart finally calming down. He moved forward again, slotting his lips against Taekwoon who had resigned to the kiss. Wonshik revelled in the warmth of the other's lips as he pulled Taekwoon closer toward him, wanting to feel his heat. When they part, Wonshik did not think too much as he pressed open mouthed kisses down the long line of Taekwoon's neck. They ambled backwards to the bed, where Taekwoon fell almost too gracefully with Wonshik still on top of him, kissing and caressing ever part of Taekwoon he could reach.

They parted again and Wonshik tossed his shirt somewhere inside the darkened room, Taekwoon's wifebeater ending in the same fate.

"I love you." Wonshik breathed, "I'm so sorry for what I've done, but always remember that I love you, I love you so much Jung Taekwoon."

"Wonshik what—"

Taekwoon really looked worried instead of terrified as he wiped Wonshik's cheeks. The man had not realized that he'd been crying. Taekwoon leaned forward and kissed him ardently, "You love me, then show me."

Wonshik really did not want to have sex, he still felt horrendous after that nightmare but maybe to feel Taekwoon's flesh against his would eventually ground him so he kissed his lover again, on his lips, on his neck, down his chest, his fingers, the inside of his pristine thighs.

Wonshik was not lust fuelled, he truly just wanted to feel Taekwoon, to please him as best as he could. So when Taekwoon was raking his nails down Wonshik's back as he unraveled under Wonshik's touch, Wonshik came. He slumped forward after cleaning Taekwoon's abdomen.

He did not want to sleep.

"What happened?"

"Nightmare." Wonshik whispered, sleep steadily consuming him at Taekwoon's fine ministrations. "Don't leave me."

"Never plan to, Wonshik. Sleep."

And Wonshik succumbed to a dreamless sleep. In the morning, he'd wake up to Taekwoon beside him and he would be oblivious to the fact that the shirt he'd tossed the night before still smelt like a strong stench of smoke, alcohol and sadness that he felt toward his very soul.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, idek. This is dedicated to all my wontaek mutuals over twitter. Sorry about this, i'm trash. Huhuhuhuhu 
> 
> Frustrated krisho x wontaek stans, hit me up @coffeejaes . Bye bye.


End file.
